In the sterile, grey heart of the Accord Commons Laws office on Nexus Prime, Baralix sat at his desk, a picture of impotent fury. He was a manager, but this posting was a prison, a bureaucratic backwater for the politically disgraced. He swiped through a stack of digital copyright forms, his expression a permanent scowl.
His finger stopped on one application. He read the name of the artist: [Percival]. Then he saw the score sheets, the lyrics, and the title. He read it once, then again, a flicker of something sharp and unpleasant in his eyes. He activated the intercom on his desk.
"Maye, my office. Now."
A moment later, one of his subordinates, a young, nervous-looking woman, hurried in. Baralix did not look at her. He just pointed a single, accusatory finger at the holographic form. "Where is the rest of his paperwork?"
"That is it, sir," the subordinate said, her voice timid. "This composer, he already submitted the mandatory forms."
Baralix sighed, a long, theatrical sound of profound suffering. "Does he, or does he not, have a Form 26-C for the specific recorded performance?"
"No, sir," she replied. "But he did send his score sheets."
Baralix finally looked up, his face a mask of incredulous rage. "And do I look like I can hear music from a sheet of paper?" he shouted, his voice echoing in the quiet office.
The subordinate flinched, but a flicker of logical protest crossed her face. "But, sir," she said sheepishly. "You are the manager for Music Common Law."
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" he roared.
The young woman took a terrified step back, her head bowed. "Nothing, sir."
Baralix leaned back in his chair, a cruel smile on his face. "Just give it to the Compadres," he said, his voice now a low growl. "Tell them to run a full diagnostic. Check it on the highest level."
"But sir, it is just a song," she whispered.
"AND IT IS 'SKYFALL' WE ARE TALKING ABOUT!" he bellowed, slamming his fist on the desk. "GO!"
The subordinate practically sprinted from the room, leaving him alone in the silence.
Baralix let out a long, shuddering breath. It was all because of his stepmother. That conniving witch had maneuvered him out of his rightful place, getting him demoted to this shit job in this shit office on this shit planet. He stood and walked to the vast window overlooking the gleaming spires of the upper levels.
"Just you wait," he whispered to his own reflection. "I will take back my father's business empire, and my life will be full of women and riches once more." He began to laugh, a loud, unhinged sound that filled the empty room.
Down on the street level, a small child walking with her mother pointed up at his window. "Mom, look. A crazy man."
The mother grabbed her child's hand and pulled her along. "Shut up, and let's get back quickly."
…
The silence in the meeting room of the Bureau of Stellar Order was as cold and polished as the obsidian table they sat around. At the head of that table, on the capital planet of Ardota Prime, sat Major Kalzor Darvex. He was a Gunnossian, his pale silver eyes scanning the faces of his subordinates. The five gleaming insignia on the right chest of his uniform signified his importance.
His voice, a low, synthetic baritone, cut through the quiet. "And what does the BSO plan to target with these new resources, Supervisor Valdi?"
Supervisor Valdi, a human with three insignia and a perpetually nervous sweat on his brow, shifted in his seat. "We are... looking into it, sir. Several promising avenues."
Kalzor's chrome prosthetic hand tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm on the table. "Are you being intentionally vague, Supervisor, or is that the full extent of your report?"
"No, sir," Valdi stammered.
"I want specifics. Now," Kalzor said, his voice dropping. He then stood, his tall, slender frame radiating an immense authority that had nothing to do with physical size. He looked at every single person at the table. "What are we doing here?"
Valdi, in a spectacular display of incompetence, answered the rhetorical question literally. "A meeting, sir."
"WHAT IS OUR PURPOSE?" Kalzor shouted, the sudden volume making Valdi flinch. He then went back to his soft, menacing voice. "Anyone." Valdi about to answer again. Kalzor held up a four-fingered hand. "Anyone but Valdi."
The room was silent. Then, a young human supervisor with three insignia, Verza Zal, spoke up, her voice clear and steady. "We are the primary law enforcement and internal intelligence agency of the Stellar Accord, responsible for maintaining state security, neutralizing internal threats, and ensuring citizen loyalty to the Accord."
Kalzor's thin lips pulled back in something that might have been a smile. "Congratulations, Verza. That is verbatim from the BSO mission statement. And that is wrong."
He began to walk around the table, his footsteps silent on the polished floor. "Security is a dream," he said, his voice a low lecture. "You want security, you call the Solars. You call the garrison of the Legion. We are the doctors of the Accord. We treat and maintain the health of the body politic." He continued his slow, predatory circle. "We identify symptoms. A sudden spike in Outer Rim propaganda in a new sector. An unregistered long-range transmitter. A new way people spread propaganda." He stopped at his own seat, having circled the entire table. "The longer we wait, the deeper the rot."
He looked directly at Valdi. "Do you understand my meaning, Supervisor Valdi?"
Valdi nodded numbly, opening his mouth to answer.
"Do not even bother," Kalzor said, cutting him off. "Give me the specific report. I will reassign it." He dismissed the topic, and the man, with a single wave of his hand. "Meeting adjourned."
The supervisors stood, a collective sense of relief in the room as they filed out. As Verza Zal was about to leave, Kalzor spoke again. "Supervisor Zal. Stay."
She stopped in her tracks, turning. "Yes, sir."
Kalzor waited until the door hissed shut, leaving just the two of them in the vast, silent room. He picked up a datapad from the table and handed it to her. "Check what is going on. I do not want any more 'audit flags' from this sector's hyperspace lanes."
"Yes, sir," she said, taking the file without question.
Kalzor turned and left the room without another word. Verza looked down at the datapad in her hand, at the sector she had just been given.
Nexus Prime and its belt.
…
Roric's "Stream Starting Soon" screen faded out, replaced by his own face in the corner of the display. He waited a few moments, watching the viewer count tick up as his loyal followers trickled in.
"What is up, Void Dwellers!" he began, his voice a familiar, energetic boom. "Welcome back to the channel. How are we all doing today?"
The chat began to flash, a waterfall of greetings and emotes. Roric leaned forward, his eyes scanning the messages.
: RORIC! LET'S GO!
: yo roric where's the vr??
: did the suit finally break? [LAUGH]
: maybe he's getting too fat for it lmao
Roric navigated the friendly fire with the ease of a veteran. "Too fat?" he said, putting a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I will have you know this is peak performance muscle, honed by years of intense, high-G VR combat simulations. My body is a temple, chat. A temple."
: a temple of synth-donuts maybe
: [LAUGH] [LAUGH] [LAUGH]
"Alright, alright," Roric laughed. "You got me. The suit is fine. But today, I wanted to try something different." He swiped a hand, and the main screen behind him changed from his channel logo to his Void account. "Tadaa! We are playing a non-VR game this time. It is called... Stardew Valley."
The reaction was immediate and universally confused.
: what is that blocky mess
: is this a joke? my compadre could render better graphics
: did the accord censor the textures? [SHOCK]
"I do not think it is a censor," Roric said, leaning closer to the screen, genuinely intrigued. "I think it is an intentional art style."
: lol roric pretending he knows about art
: yeah what do you know about art?
Roric clutched his chest again, his face a mask of mock hurt. "I know a lot! I will have you know I was rejected from one of the finest art academies on the whole Accord. Hahahaha." He clicked play.
A simple logo for "Round Table Studios" appeared. "Round Table Studios, guys. Do you know them?"
: nope
: never heard of them
: probably some outer rim indie dev
The title screen appeared, bright and colorful. "See?" Roric said, pointing. "It is an art style. What should we name this style? It is a bit blocky."
: Block-Core
: Retro-Vision
: Low-Poly-Garbage
: Lazy-Square
Roric just laughed. He clicked start. He was shown a choice of planets for his farm. "Alright, chat, which one? Should I do the default Obelia II?"
The chat erupted with recommendations. He scrolled through them, then chose one. "Henusan IV, a forest planet. Sounds cozy." Then came the character customization. He played around with the options, a goofy grin on his face as he followed the chat's unhinged suggestions. He named the character Roric, the farm "Supreme Chat," his favorite thing "The Chat," and chose a dog for his pet.
"You guys make me so lame," he said, shaking his head as he looked at the final, ridiculous character.
He started the game. The familiar, heartwarming intro began.
: Aww grandpa :(
: Bye in the chat for gramps
: LMAO a free farm!
: Sell that land!!
Roric listened to the old man's speech, his own expression softening. "Okay, this is actually... kinda sweet," he admitted. Then the scene shifted to the depressing, soulless office.
: lol that's literally my job
: Joja Corp gives me the creeps
: Is that me?
Roric read the grandpa's letter out loud for the stream, his voice lending a surprising weight to the pixelated words. When the cutscene was over and his character was standing on the bus platform in Pelican Town, he let out a long breath. The initial mockery was gone from his voice, replaced by a genuine curiosity. He wiggled his character back and forth. Up, down, up, down.
"Up, down, up, down. Alright," he said, leaning forward in his chair. "Let's see what kind of game we have here, right chat?"
…
His daily Gacha pull had become a ritual. Dorian did the one-hundred pull on the Stardew Valley banner, and this time, among the usual wood and stone, he got something different. Minerals. A Tigerseye and a large, milky Opal.
"Let's gooo!" he shouted to the empty room. "We can sell it, babbyy!" He stopped himself, the initial excitement giving way to a practical problem. 'Wait... where?' He could not just walk into a shop as Dorian Kepler, a penniless drop-out from the lower levels, and try to sell impossibly high-quality, untraceable minerals.
He looked at his System panel, at the glowing [Profile: Farmer of the Past] icon. A slow, brilliant idea began to form. He looked closer in the mirror, at the face of his farmer avatar, and a wide, confident smile spread across his face.
He deactivated the profile, returning to his own form, and went about his morning routine. He cooked a real breakfast for Lyra and Marcus, then walked them to school. After waving them goodbye, he took a starliner not to the lower levels, but back to the chaotic, anonymous marketplace of the mid-level.
He found an empty, grimy public toilet stall, the door hissing shut behind him. He activated his Farmer profile. The world shimmered, and his body shifted into the taller, tanned, brown-haired, blue-eyed stranger. He then materialized the minerals, the heavy, cool weight of the Tigerseye and the large Opal feeling solid and real in his hands.
He stepped out of the toilet, a different person. As he walked through the crowded market, he passed Ula's Hardware. He saw Jakor haggling with a customer. He walked right by, and Jakor's eyes passed over him without a flicker of recognition. Good.
He found what he was looking for: a small, discreet crystal shop, the kind that catered to Solars who needed energy-conducive minerals for their equipment. He stepped inside.
"Hey," he said to the shopkeeper, a Kalamoran with iridescent skin. "I am trying to sell these."
The Kalamoran looked up, his large, dark eyes assessing the young man. "Oh? Let me have a look, young man."
Dorian placed the large Opal on the counter. The shopkeeper took out a handheld scanner. The moment the beam hit the mineral, the scanner let out a loud, high-pitched series of beeps, its screen flashing red with an energy reading that was off the charts.
"Oh my," the shopkeeper whispered, hurriedly putting the scanner away. His professional demeanor was gone, replaced by a nervous excitement. "Let me buy it, boy. How much?"
"All of it in untraceable, physical credit chits," Dorian said, his voice steady.
The Kalamoran's eyes narrowed. "Who has physical credit these days? It is all digital."
Dorian began to pick up the Opal. "Alright. If you do not want to, then it is fine. I will find another buyer."
"Hey, hey!" the shopkeeper said quickly, his hands up in a placating gesture. "Okay. Okay, let's talk."
Dorian smiled.
A little while later, he was back in the same grimy toilet stall, deactivating his Farmer profile. He had made a bank today, a small fortune in untraceable credits tucked safely into his pocket. He came out, once again the unassuming Dorian Kepler, and walked happily towards the starliner station.
…
Meanwhile, on the tranquil garden planet of Sela...
Gil Nothos's assistant walked silently into the grand, sunlit music room. "Sir," he said softly. "You have a guest."
Gil was sipping his morning Teebu, enjoying a rare moment of peace. He gently placed the delicate cup on the table beside him. "Who is it?"
"It is the Apex Guild Master," the assistant replied. "Mister Alexei Park. And his daughter."
Gil's white eyebrows rose in surprise. 'He brought his daughter here?' This was not a business call. He stood, his curiosity piqued. "Let them come in."
The assistant bowed and walked away. Gil wondered what that muscle-headed Alexei could possibly want, bringing his daughter all the way to his private residence.
⋘ 𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒂.. .⋙
🎮: Stardwey Valley: Completed.
🎬: -
♬:
- Your Name – Elton John (ch.9)
- A Lovely Night – La La Land (ch.20)